


Wicked

by Maleficar



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Outdoor Sex, Public Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2797526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maleficar/pseuds/Maleficar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evelyn teases Blackwall until he snaps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked

Blackwall was on the edge, a hair’s breadth from losing his mind, and he was fairly certain Evelyn knew it. No, he wasn’t _fairly_ certain. Fairly implied some measure of doubt, and there was no doubt in his mind. 

As they’d readied to leave Skyhold, she’d helped cinch the straps of his armor, pressing against his back. Her breasts, warm and soft, had shot thought straight out of his head. Then she’d lifted onto her toes, pressed her lips to his ear, and whispered, “I’m not wearing any smallclothes today.” She’d slid down his back, slipping in front of him, her fingers tugging at his breastplate to make sure it sat right on his chest. With a wicked smile, her sinful lips painted a demonic red, she’d brushed her hips against his and added, “I love seeing you in armor. It makes me so wet.”

Then she’d scampered off to help Varric get the horses.

“Red and ripe, her lips pursing, puckering, pulling against my skin. I want her to stop but I don’t, so I push my hands into her hair and hold her to help her, cursing the Maker for making someone so perfect.”

Blackwall had given Cole a flat look and said, “Oh, great, you’re coming, too.”

With wide, blinking eyes, Cole replied, “No, but you are. Or she is. It’s muddled in your head.”

And now they were slogging through the Emerald Graves, the heat sweltering, and Evie was… He didn’t even know what Evie was doing except putting a candle under the frayed rope of his control, watching it blacken and burn with unmitigated glee. 

“Elfroot!” she exclaimed.

“Don’t we already have enough?” Varric asked. A fair question. The alchemists were swimming in the stuff.

Evie gave Varric a smile that Blackwall knew was actually directed at him. She only smiled like that right before she was about to do something wicked to him. “One can never have enough elfroot,” she purred, and she bent at the waist.

At the waist. Maker damn her.

Her long coat fell over one hip as she pushed it out of her way, revealing breeches stretched taut against the finest ass Blackwall had ever had the pleasure of seeing. Of touching. Full and round, perfectly formed, he wanted to run his hands over it, over her, to peel off those ridiculous breeches. He wanted to leave them around her ankles, trapping her legs, as he freed his cock and pressed into her, taking her against the nearest tree until she screamed. 

Like she did last night.

“She trembles, limbs lit by fire and starlight, a gasp on her lips as she—”

“Get. Out,” Blackwall snapped, taking a step toward Cole. 

Cole didn’t take a step back, as any sane man might have done. He just tipped his head to one side and studied Blackwall with those oversized, sunken eyes of his. “She wants to twist you up inside.”

Blackwall resisted the urge to drag his hand down his face – doing that with greaves on wouldn’t do him any favors – and choked back an irritated grumble. “She does it fine on her own without you helping.”

“Why does she want to twist you?”

He let out a gruff laugh. “It’s the way of women, lad.” He turned his gaze back to Evie, who was pocketing elfroot leaves, and his gaze lingered on her ass again. Not that he minded her twisting him up inside, not usually. She was an impossible creature, pulling him into shadowed alcoves or behind buildings, whispering wicked promises as she set her mouth to sin.

Varric, who had wandered toward him and Cole while Evie collected the elfroot, swung Bianca onto his shoulder and gave Blackwall one of those hideous, knowing grins of his. “Rough day, Warden Blueballs?”

“I’m going to choke you both.”

“But why does she twist him?” Cole asked.

“Why does who twist who?” Evie asked. Her hips swayed as she walked, swinging back and forth, a hypnotizing, alluring motion. Her eyes raked over Blackwall, all heat and want, and when she met his eyes, she wet her lips with a stroke of her tongue.

If he’d been hard before, it was the way clay appeared hard before baking. Now, he was like a rock in his pants, his cock aching and throbbing for her. His whole world was narrowing to the need to be inside her, her wet cunt grasping at him as he thrust into her. 

With a chuckle, Varric shifted Bianca on his shoulder. “Probably a discussion for another time, Inquisitor. You wanted to find more shards?”

That meant scrambling over hill and dale, watching Evie clamber up the sides of mountains. More specifically, that meant watching her ass as she did all those things. _Maker’s balls_.

Brightly, she said, “According to the map Harding gave us—” What a name, Harding, Blackwall thought. “—there should be an Ocularum nearby. Then we should have enough to go back to the Forbidden Oasis.” She shot Blackwall a sultry look as she unrolled the map in her hands, stretching it wide so they all could see. “Such a lovely place, the Forbidden Oasis.”

“Are we thinking about the same place, Inquisitor? Miles of sand, confusing gorges, Venatori everywhere?” Varric asked. “Not sure I’d count that as lovely.”

The sultry smile grew, her lush lips parting, and Cole said, “Water pouring down my back, sweet and cool, washing away the sun, the stress. And then his hands are there, kneading gently, insistent, warm like fire but without the burn. I—”

Evie cleared her throat, cutting Cole off. “Thank you, Cole,” she said firmly, her cheeks a furious shade of red.

Heat spread through Blackwall’s body, a brief respite from the oppressive humidity of the Graves. His cock throbbed in his pants, needing her. Craving her. The red flush on Evie’s skin disappeared into her shirt. From personal experience, he knew she was blushing to the coral tips of her pretty breasts. 

Maker, her breasts. He swallowed hard. Awful things. He needed to think of awful things. Death. Destruction. Dying children. Except as soon as he thought of children, he thought of Evie with children, and his mind quite helpfully provided him with all sorts of ways to get her pregnant: her riding him on her throne, their bodies tangled before the hearth, a quick coupling in the loft, him binding her to her bed and taking her hour after hour. And then he was imagining her with a babe in her arms, a girl with Evie’s brilliantly green eyes. A little boy stood beside Evie, his arms wrapped around her legs, with Blackwall’s dark hair and blue eyes but his mother’s delicate, fine-boned features.

No. No, he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about those sorts of things. He should be thinking about plague. Pestilence. Rotting corpses.

She caught her lower lip with her teeth as she rolled up her map, and all rational thought fled. He had to have her. He needed her on her hands and knees as he drove into her, needed her breathless or screaming or first one and then the other. The fact that they were in the middle of the Graves? Inconsequential.

“Varric,” he said, his voice tight. 

Her eyes met his at the sound of his voice, and she took a step back, expression startled. But her lips were parted, her cheeks still flushed, and she held herself like a woman waiting for her lover to pounce. He wanted to pounce.

Varric took one look at him, one sharp, assessing look, and clapped his hand on Cole’s lower back. “Hey, Cole, let’s you and me do some scouting. How about it. I’ll tell you some stories, you can practice your jokes.”

“But we have Harding for that,” Cole said, clearly confused, as Varric all but dragged him down the path. 

Blackwall was on her a second later, dragging her into his arms with one hand and thrusting his other into her hair. The tight braid she wore wrapped around her head dissolved in his fingers, coming apart in a wave of silken strands. Spinning about, he slammed her against a tree, and he kissed her with no preamble. The meeting of their mouths could barely be called a kiss, really; it was a hard and press, a brutal coming together of teeth and tongue. He wanted to command her with that kiss. Wanted to own her with it.

He shifted between her thighs, pressing into her welcoming heat of her as he stole her breath with his kisses. She was whimpering under his lips, making soft sounds that went straight to his hard cock. He ached for her, for the sweet rest found in the depths of her hot body.

“Blackwall,” she gasped when he turned his lips to her jaw. 

Nipping from lip to ear, he laughed softly. Darkly. There was no gentleness in that laugh, but he had no gentleness in him. His hands were rough on her as he yanked at her coat, pulling open buttons until her breasts spilled free of fabric.

“Blackwall, we’re—”

“Don’t care,” he rumbled in her ear. “You’ve broken me, my lady.” He spoke the words with such dark possession that it shocked even him. She didn’t deserve that. She deserved tender and sweet.

She deserved to be dragged to the ground and fucked on her hands and knees for the Fade-like hell she’d put him through all day.

“Someone could—” 

His fingers sliding into her pants, cupping her, curling into her silenced her words. She cried out, her hands grasping at the leather straps of his armor, her hips bucking into his touch. Then she clapped one hand over her mouth, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. She looked like a woman about to be well used. 

With a smug grin, he released her hair, knocking her hand away from her mouth. “Scream for me, my lady,” he said, and he stroked his fingers through her wetness as he kissed her.

She was just wet enough to take him, and he didn’t have the self-control to be patient with her. He’d work her over later, making her come for him time and time again until she couldn’t do anything more than lay trembling in her bed. But now he needed to be inside her. Riding her. Claiming her.

Pulling his hand free of her, he spun her around, pressing her chest to the tree. He yanked her breeches down, and she gasped with indignation. “Blackwall!” The shock in her voice pleased him. 

Did she think he didn’t have limits? That he couldn’t be broken? She’d shattered every last rope that kept his passions in check and he didn’t have the ability to tie himself back again. Heat burned through him, licking along his veins, driving him. 

He tore at the front of his trousers, freeing his cock. With nowhere for her to go, her body flush against the tree, he kicked her feet wide and pressed into her in a single, perhaps brutal thrust.

For a second, he felt as though he’d crossed a line.

Then she moaned his name, her head dropping onto his shoulder, lolling to one side, and he grinned. “Wanton harlot,” he murmured as he set his hands to her hips, withdrawing from her only to slam back inside. 

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, yes, yes.”

It was wonderful, the slick slide into her. Her body was tight, clenching around him, trying to trap him inside. The seductive lure of her body was overwhelming, all consuming. Usually, he took things slow. Savored her. Now, he simply took her. 

Her pleasure was incidental.

He wasn’t slow and gentle. His pace was demanding, and her nails scrabbled over the bark of the tree he had her pressed against as she whimpered and moaned. Maker, it felt good. The wet heat of her body pulled at him, demanding he spill into her, but he refused to give in. No, he had to torment _her_ for the hell she’d put him through.

“Blackwall, please,” she gasped, one of her hands dropping, trying to work between her body and the tree.

He snarled softly, grabbing her wrists in both hands and pinning them above her head. Then he touched her, sliding his hand over her hip to circle her clit.

She gasped again.

He stroked her, fucking her with furious abandon, driving himself into her until there was nothing else except the welcoming heat of her body. His fingers tightened hard around her wrists, and she cried out. For the barest second, he felt awful. She’d have bruises later.

Then she whispered, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” and his pity was consumed by the driving need to make her scream for him.

He felt body rippling around him, felt the subtle change in her as she shifted to take him deeper, to let him have more of her. He didn’t slow. He kept that same, uncompromising pace, and she clenched her hands into fists, arched her back. The bark would leave red welts on her nipples, and, later, he’d kiss each mark in apology. For now, he just wanted her to come.

And when she did, when she finally shattered, it was a thing of beauty. Her head thrown back, resting on his shoulder, she cried out his name. Her body was rigid, but her cunt was sweet and soft, rippling around him in delicious spasms that sent a wave of fire tearing through him. Gritting his teeth, he stilled, waiting for her orgasm to subside, and she let out a whimper of confusion.

Then he took her to the forest floor. Bending over her back, his thighs bracketing hers, he started again, driving into her without any hesitation. He released her wrists so she could hold herself up, and one hand grasped at her breasts, plucking her nipples until they were hardened, pebbled points that scraped against his palms. With his other hand, he held her hip to brace her, to keep her steady as he took her remorselessly.

Every thrust ripped a little cry from her, and her cunt still rippled with the aftershocks of pleasure.

Leaning over her, he brushed a kiss over her ear. “All day long,” he rasped, “you’ve had me at my wit’s end.”

Her only response was a senseless whimper.

Drawing his hand away from her hip, he slapped her flank. The crack of flesh on flesh echoed through the clearing, loud and sharp, and she sucked in a surprised breath.

“Tit for tat, my lady.” He slapped her ass again, leaning back to watch her ass bounce from the hit and his thrusts. Beneath him, she keened, arching her back, pressing her ass against him. He slid deeper into her, felt her tense around him, and then she cried out. Her body trembled against his, her arms giving out as she dropped to her forearms with a quiet whimper.

He drove into her still, extending her orgasm for as long as he could, but the pleasure of her body rippling around him and the sight of her shaking on her hands and knees before him was too much. With a hoarse cry, he jerked into her. The tension that had been growing inside him with each thrust released itself in unsteady jets, and his seed spilled into her. 

When he withdrew, some of that seed trickled out of her, a line of wetness snaking down her thigh.

Maker, what a relief. He slid his hands over her thighs, wincing at the sight of the red handprint forming on her ass, and stroked her sides. “My lady?”

Slowly, she pushed herself onto her knees. He caught her in his arms, holding her as she turned her head and kissed the side of his jaw. “That,” she breathed, “was incredible. You’re incredible. You’re…”

“I am?” 

“Wicked,” she breathed.


End file.
